Page 23 of Savage Sin

I’m rooted to the floor, my eyes wide open. I try to shut them, but I can’t pull attention off the blood oozing from beneath a nearby door.

Tears swim in my eyes.

I try to focus on anything else, but the basement is barren of distractions.

Childhood songs, poems. Anything. I mentally grasp for words and lyrics to distract my thoughts.

I rock in place on the thin mattress moved back against the wall. It’s so hot. And dark. But not dark enough to hide the blood.

I press my knees to my chest and hang my head. Summer heat robs me of my strength, but the screams tearing through the door opposite mine have my heart thudding against my chest.

“Answer me,” I hear someone roar. Who it is, I don’t know. An enforcer, Cortes’ enemy? The demanding voices grow distant. But the screams…

I clutch at my throat and try to swallow past the rolling urge to vomit from the force of pain etched into the howling sound.

“Answer me. Who do you work for, Sokolov?”

My heart clenches and my chest hurts. They hurt so many people down here. So many.

Sorrow. Death and despair. My lungs spasm for fresh air. I stare in the direction the screams are coming from and cling to the wall at my back. If I stay quiet, they won’t come for me, too.

“Persi, qué está pasando?” What’s going on? My sister is somewhere in a nearby room. I’ve tried so many times to free myself so I can get us both out of here, but I’ve only bloodied my wrists. And now some other poor soul has fallen victim to my family.

Pop.

The screams stop.

There’s a loud thud and then dead silence.

I startle awake. I cast around for the source of a bang or a loud thump. Like a body hitting the ground or someone being tossed a couple of floors down. I keep still, but my heart feels like I’ve run thirty miles with a pack of demons on my heels the whole way. Hair covers my face. I try to move it, but it’s just…everywhere.

I move to throw it from my eyes, but I can’t get my hands close enough to my face.

Fresh tears fall down my cheeks. I don’t even know why I’m crying. The past. The fucked up present. Both for sure. I inhale and exhale rapidly, trying to wash away the lingering scent of blood. The nightmare comes out of nowhere. Most nights I fall into a blackout sleep, exhausted from staying alive as a Castel in a Cortes household. But on nights like tonight, when there’s fear in my blood, it’s like the monsters that live in my head know I’m vulnerable and want to feed off the fear of my nightmares.

Around me it’s a blackout kind of dark. Some things rarely change. But at least I’m not cold. I wiggle and pull on the knots keeping me bound to the bed, but just like the asshole holding me said, the more I fight the more I regret it.

I tell myself to get a grip, but the tears in my eyes don’t listen. I am so tired of the dark. I would give a lot to see the sun again and feel the warmth on my face.

Just breathe, Persi.

I’ve gone a lot of time without seeing the outside world, so I lean into that and shove my crazy wishes into the trash alongside that dank-smelling shirt I woke up wearing back on the ship. I crane my neck around and try to piece together the room with little luck. It’s hard to do when I can’t see a damn thing.

I try to work up what this place looked like from the last time I had my eyes open for any length of time, but honestly, all I can remember is him.

I shift my weight and feel a pang of fire on my side. I raise my head to look at my midsection. There are blankets covering me where when I drifted off, I had nothing but his t-shirt from the waist up. I grit my teeth and ride the wave. Skin pulls tight and that same damn burn like matches to the skin hasn’t gone away.

“NO! Damn it!” I seethe into the darkness. Why does that still hurt so badly? I don’t have time for this. If I can barely move, that means I can’t run.

I try to sit up again. This time the urge to cry doesn’t come and the flames licking up my side are not as intense, I notice. Progress? Yesterday, or it could have just been hours ago, I couldn’t move without wanting to fall into a heap of tears and madness. Now, I can at least tolerate the pain after the initial jolt of shock.

I cast around for a clock, something to help me measure the time. Nothing. How long has it been? Three, maybe four days, of lying in this bed? A week? Dread drips into my blood from an endless supply boiling in my gut. Gabriella doesn’t have much longer before giving birth. What Joaquin will do with her and the baby leaves my hands shaking.

Slivers of light arrow through the crack in the door. It could be morning or afternoon. I have no way of telling, really. I can’t read if I’m looking east or west.

I lift my head. “Hey, can I get some water in here?” I scream. Bullfrogs sound better than I do. I drop back onto the pillow and wait. I need a shower in the worst way and I have to pee.

I wish Joaquin and his side-kick Russian would have just stabbed me in the heart and ended me. Lying here with everything tied down is some people’s kinky dream come true. Not mine. For me, it’s torture. Take my toes and fingers and whatever else you want, but taking away my freedom to move eats at my core. I flex my fingers. They either throb or are so numb I can’t feel them. Right now, they are in the middle of the two.

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